Bridge of Locks

Eva had wanted coffee desperately. Her feet ached from walking for so long around Paris. She did not regret it. Paris like most cities was full of sights and wonders, mostly unofficial and transient as a flower-bloom. But the cafes were full and when she saw that there was a table with the young man alone at it, she asked if she might share it. He smiled briefly and gestured to the chair opposite. When he saw her Plan de Paris and heard her slightly awkwardly order a coffee he knew she was a tourist. At first he had asked simple questions of her; how long was she in Paris for, where was she from, how did she like the city. His accent was slight and he was pleasant and polite, Eva liked politeness in the young. She soon found herself at ease with him and soon enough asked him about all the padlocks on the fencing over one of the bridges.

    "Ah that, that's a story to move you at least a little," the young man said softly beckoning a waiter over.

It was almost lunchtime and the young man ordered a pot of coffee and a sandwich. Eva ordered a sandwich and cake - after all, she was on holiday. The waiter nodded, noted and left them.

   "Some years back, when I was still at school madame, there was a young lady from the Rue St Honore. A very, very respectable area if madame understands me," the young man began.

Eva nodded to show she understood and pushed her coffee cup to one side.

   "This mademoiselle used to walk across the bridge for her business studies tuition from Monsieur Saccard a very brilliant man so I've heard, I don't know for sure. Anyway the mademoiselle used to pass by a group of students and as she was beautiful but obviously rich, comments were made. One day it seems, a young musician on the bridge intervened and reminded the students that politeness cost nothing. The students sneered and rounded on him with their words. The musician defended himself well and without raising the temperature of anyone to violence. The mademoiselle was enchanted at the musician's wit and his willingness to defend her. She had always ignored the students as she passed trying to maintain her dignity, but she felt the barbs of their words nonetheless. She continued with her studies and would always leave money in the musician's hat if he was there. If he was not their, she missed him. The students remained and while they did not comment, they would sneer at her and bow in mock politeness and servitude.

Now it seemed that mademoiselle's father had employed a gentleman to follow her daughter to her classes and home again. When the gentleman remarked on the young musician, the father was at first grateful. He visited the musician when mademoiselle was at her classes and offered the musician his gratitude which the man took and a some large sum, which the man refused.

   "A Franc or two will be enough in appreciation of my music, monsieur," he answered politely.

The father did not understand this. He had always sought money and power and could not understand anyone not wishing to do the same. Is it not typical madame that we measure others with our own desires and aspirations?" the young man asked Eva.

She gave a little laugh and nodded in agreement. The waiter brought their lunch and the pot of coffee. Eva paid for it all and the young man thanked her and offered her the cost of the coffee and his sandwich.

   "Consider it my contribution to the meal," she said with a warm smile and he bowed in his seat and thanked her.

He poured them both fresh coffee and took a bite of his sandwich, chewing it carefully. Then he continued,

   "Ah now then... yes, the father thanked the musician again and returned home a little troubled. Still mademoiselle continued her classes through the summer and little by little as you may guess madame, they fell in love. Shyly at first, the love of glances and quick little smiles, but soon enough mademoiselle would pause and talk to the musician. He would sing a song for her and she would bring him something to eat on her way home. All this was reported to the father by the gentleman.

The father confronted his daughter," the young man shook his head.

   "It's the same story madame, old as time itself. Every father has thought he could command his daughter to protect her from undesirable men. Yet every man will be undesirable for his precious daughter, but no father ever learns - in my experience at least. So this father commanded his daughter not to see the musician again. The result - the predictable result madame, was that firstly mademoiselle laid down her own rules concerning herself and her rights. The second was that mademoiselle was driven into the arms of the musician to 'teach papa a lesson'. It is your English Shakespeare who says, 'Lord, what fools these mortals be' I think. Neither mademoiselle nor papa could see their own folly only the folly of the other.

It is perhaps fortunate that the musician was a good man of whom there are not nearly enough. My mother always taught me to be worthy of a woman in order to be worthy of myself. An excellent maxim, but not all women are worthy any more than men. We are all foolish at one time or another in our well-meaning efforts to get along as best we can, I think," the young man said thoughtfully taking another bite of his sandwich.

   "Monsieur is quite the philosopher," Eva remarked gently.
   The young man chuckled at that.
   "Madame, all students get philosophical sooner or later! Ah well forgive me, so much folly and I am sure I have my fair share of it too.
   Well after some time the angry father locked the daughter up at home and put a large steel padlock on the door to the street so that she might not get out without his permission - which by the way he had no intention of giving. This was 'protecting his daughter' in his mind and 'being unreasonable and stupid' in his daughter's mind. in truth they were both as unreasoning as each other. The musician missed her passing by and knowing from her where she lived, he stood outside her house and played songs to her. The father was furious as you may imagine. At first he warned the musician off, then when that did not work he threatened the man. That did not work either. So the father came up with a terrible idea. He had two men visit the musician and take him back to his pitch on the bridge. There he was chained to the bridge and padlocked to it. The key was then thrown into the river. The students asked him what the padlock and chain was all about and when he told them they brought him food and clothing. They spread the word and wrote about the lovers. Eh bien madame, this is Paris, the city of lovers, naturally the father came out badly. The women of the city adored the musician and were furious with the father. The men of the city kept their peace and let their daughters have a little more freedom but watched them anxiously as I suppose every father does.

Then one morning a few lovers attached padlocks with their names written on them and ribbons attached to the fencing. They fed the musician and gave him coffee. They put up a drape around him and gave him warm water to bathe and new clothes. His friends helped him too. A week later the father came to him and told him that if he would forget his daughter the chain would be cut and he would be freed. He laughed and remarked that he had refused offers to cut the chain though he had received many such offers. He loved mademoiselle and nobody else. The father began to get cross, for he realised that he had already lost. His daughter was pining away, refusing food and drink until she might be with her love. He growled and cut the chains anyway telling the man to be off.

   "You cannot chain love monsieur, your daughter is still her father's prisoner," the musician replied.

The father was about to make some angry comment when three more lovers came and attached padlocks to the fencing of the bridge. The father frowned and asked them what on earth they were doing.

   "It is our sympathy for all those lovers who are separated by the hard-hearted. Their love is our love," the lovers told him.

The father then hung his head in shame for he realised his folly then. He returned home deep in thought, followed though he was not aware of it, by the musician. He entered the house and removed the padlock. Almost immediately after he shut the door behind him, the musician began to play his guitar and sing to his love. Behind her windows mademoiselle heard her young man and burst into tears. She called for food and ate a little. Then she took the rest and tiptoed out of the house, quietly noticed by her father who sat in his study with his head in his hands.

Once out of the house, mademoiselle shared her breakfast with her musician who, shocked at her condition took her to a cafe and fed her. He took her home with him to his apartment in Montmartre and cared for her. After a little while he wrote to her father and arranged a meeting with him. The result was that the lovers were wed for the father could see that this man loved his daughter as much as he did and a little more. Which is as it should be. The padlocks remain on the bridge as a symbol of lovers locked in love no matter who or what shall keep them apart."

    "It sounds like a contemporary fairytale," Eva told the young serious man.
   "More a tale of the sympathy the world has for lovers," the young man replied.

They finished their meal and went their separate ways, but Eva wrote down the tale in her journal and did not forget it. It was for her one of those beautiful moments that are as transient as a bottle flowing along a river passing quickly but memorable on its own terms.

The Loving Mother

A long time ago there was a woman who had three daughters whom she loved greatly. Each of them became fine needlewomen. The eldest, Daisy was an excellent weaver, the middle one Holly was a superb dressmaker and tailor; the youngest Rose was fabulous at embroidery. They became better at all the crafts of needlework until they were known for being the finest in Sussex where they lived.

Now it happened that one day an old man arrived at their workshop and told them that their services were wanted. The girls wondered if they had time to do the work for they were in the middle of a great deal of work already. Sadly they told him they would have to decline. The man shrugged and went away shaking his head and sighing.

Soon after, their mother sickened and took to her bed. She was no fool, she knew that there was a dark magic at work, but she called her daughters to her and told them to bring her three horseshoes. This was done and the sickness weakened in her, but still it persisted. She asked for salt and scattered it around her bed, but it was too late and she died.

Her daughters were struck deep with grief for they had loved their mother as sky loves sun and cats love fish. They wept until the old man returned to their workshop with a tall and imperious woman.

"You mother is gone and will never return unless you know her well," the woman told them.

She had hair as black as a raven's wing, eyes as green as spring leaves, skin pale and slightly green and lips as red as holly berries. When she smiled there was something dangerous about her. When she frowned it was as if a storm was gathering.

"There are ten trees in the Public Park, if you can guess which one is your mother she shall be returned to you. If not then I shall turn the three of you into a Daisy a Holly bush and a Rose bush. If I return your mother to you, I shall expect you to make the dress, veil, and shoes and the underwear I demand," the woman told them.

Then with a flick of her black hair she left them, the old man following her shaking his head and sighing. The young women were furious and upset. Daisy went to the Park and walked among the trees. They were all oaks, but below one of them she noticed a small clump of daisies. She looked up at the tree, curtsied and said softly,

"Come back to us well, mama," she said.

Then she went home and as she went a storm seemed to be gathering. The next day, Holly went to the Park and walked among the trees weeping. She sighed and thought of her mother until she noticed a small holly bush below one of the trees. She curtsied and said softly,

"I love you mama, come back to us soon."

She went home and a storm gathered over the Park. Clouds darkened the sky and a wind blew her hair about. The following day, Rose went to the Park and walked among the trees. She caressed all the trees and below one of them she saw a beautiful pink-orange rose growing. She stepped back from the tree and curtsied before saying,

"Come mama, let us go home together."

The clouds gathered and blackened. The wind picked up and suddenly it began to rain heavily. The oak seemed to shrink it's branches and and slowly became a woman. It was the mother of the three young women. Rose handed her mother her coat and kissed her. They went home together and the young women now set to work to make the faery's clothes. But with their mother's advice and help they sewed into all of the clothes, fine small pieces of iron.

The dress was of the finest silk, the shoes of velvet, the veil of fine gauze and the underwear of brushed cotton, finely embroidered. Anyone would have loved these clothes.

On the fourth day, the faery arrived with the old man. The young women had placed the clothes in the back bedroom where the faery might try them on in peace. Over the window was a horseshoe. The faery went into the room and shut the door. The young women heard her retch, then gasp. A painful thin hiss was followed by a scream. The bedroom door suddenly flew open and the faery staggered from the room her hand on her chest where her heart would have been if she'd had one. The old man stared at the faery then sighed. He turned and walked away, shaking his head and shaking his head in despair.

Suddenly,  the faery let out a howling screech and vanished. She was never seen again and the clothes were burned. The ashes were scattered around the roots of the trees in the Park. 

The Temple of Diana - at Siena

A very long time ago a Duke of Siena wished to marry a beautiful young woman by the name of Laura. She was the daughter of a wealthy merchant and was much sought after by many of the young men of Siena. She however wished only to play her mandolin and read the books in her father's house. She soon left the mandolin when her careful study of her father's many books gave her an interest in art and the making of beautiful things.

It might be thought that the Duke himself would prefer a more genteel woman for a wife rather than this artisan, beautiful and wise though she was. Yet it seemed that the more she made herself an artisan - to the shame of her parents who did not understand her at all, the more the Duke was smitten with her. He gave her father all kinds of offers in return for Laura's hand in marriage, dowries of considerable sum and value. To them all Laura refused saying that she preferred to marry only the man she loved and while she respected the Duke up to a point, she was not in love with him in the least.

"Surely his grace would prefer a woman with more pleasure in keeping her Lord's house and bearing his children," she said.

"Would you not wish to be that woman, the helpmeet of my days and the love of my life, beautiful Laura?" the Duke asked her.

"I respect my Lord and love him as a citizen should, but I am not in love nor do I wish to be an accessory either to a Duke or even a King," she answered, adding "I'm no good for that, there's a mind inside this head and I have too much I want to do of my own."

Still the Duke persisted, believing that she wished only to be wooed. He sent her flowers; she planted them in public gardens. He sent her sonnets, she gave them to her mother. He sent her fine jewellery; she gave them to her sister. He sent her a fine mandolin, she sent it back to him. He sent her dresses of fine fabrics, she sent them to his mother who said nothing, but smiled, for she liked the spirit of the young woman.

Now it happened one day that the Duke, coming home from hunting and having caught nothing came very near to falling from his horse and down the side of a steep hill. Should he have fallen, he would undoubtedly have been killed and it occurred to him that he had no heir to his throne. This thought filled his thoughts until he took himself to the house of the di Monti and demanded that Laura should marry him that very Saturday.

Laura was furious. She knew that until now the Duke had indulged her for he wished her to love him. But she knew also that his word in Siena was law and none dare oppose him. She was but one woman in the city and she could not resist the law of the city. So she shut herself up in her workshop and made many plans all of which gave her no satisfaction at all. She could not leave the centre of Siena for the Duke's men were everywhere and would not disobey him.

That evening, the Duke told his mother everything and she frowned. She liked Laura and she of course, loved her son, but she did not want any wife of his not to love him.

"I am the Duke of Siena by order of the King himself. In this city I will have obedience from all my subjects. Besides which I do her a great service marrying her into the ducal family of Siena. She will obey and I will have heirs to continue my family line," the Duke told his mother who shook her head and threw up her hands in despair.

That night, there was a new moon, the Maiden Moon as the Siennese called it. Laura struggled to sleep and so rose from her bed to work on her flying machine. She did several equations and wished she had lighter materials to work with, but her machine would not fly. It must either be bigger and so heavier or smaller and therefore too heavy to fly.

The Duke's mother quietly left Siena that night for the hills around the city and changed from her rich red velvet dress to a white silk shift. She would no doubt at all have been hung for a witch had she been seen, but she wore a mask of silver and gloves of grey silk. She was no witch but a follower of Diana, an ancient order.

Clouds drifted across the new crescent moon and veiled the woods and ancient mountains around Siena as the Duke's mother Giulietta rode her palfrey through a thick forest accompanied only by six women similarly clad in the pale colours of her order. These six women were armed and ready to defend Giulietta to their last drops of blood. In a clearing in the woods was a ruined building. A great hall, it's roof fallen in a long time ago let in the night jewelled with stars and the crescent moon. Through this hall, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Giulietta and her acolytes drifted, a faint breeze plucking tenderly at their pale shifts.

At the other end of the hall lay an antechamber through which the women went before descending a stone stair until they came to a high vaulted chamber that was lit by other similarly dressed women bearing lanterns. Giulietta bowed and took her place. That night many prayers were said to the goddess Diana whose pale crescent was once again in the sky. Giulietta's prayer was one of those. She prayed to the goddess to advise her, for fear that her son might do something he should later come to regret.

The following day, the Duke went out to hunt. He found himself a little way ahead of his fellows when a white hart appeared before him and ran away through the wood. The Duke blew his horn and pursued the hart. No matter how fast his horse ran the hart remained always in view but beyond his crossbow quarrel's reach. It is said that he went deep into the wood and what happened to him there is unknown but some hours later he appeared to his fellows. They had been searching for him for some time with great anxiety but he would say nothing only preferring to return to Siena.

That afternoon he proclaimed that all the woman of Siena should be free to marry who they wished and that his own marriage to Laura di Monti was off. Laura was amazed though grateful and recommended to Bianca Casareggio that she might persuade the Duke to marry her. Bianca blushed and thanked Laura. The Duke's mother visited Laura that evening and ordered a thousand ceramic tiles; diamond shaped with the crescent moon on a blue ground. Laura was happy to oblige.

The Duke of Siena was married that Saturday to Bianca Casareggio a lady of some quiet, gentle beauty. And the temple of Diana in the Wood was proud to initiate Laura di Monti that night into the order of the Goddess. That is why the crescent moon features in Siena, for quietly behind all the men is the order of Diana in the Wood.

Cakes and Wine with Mademoiselle X

There are some people who live with little or nothing. There are others who live with too much of everything. There are those who live with a little of one and too much of the other. There are those few, who by the instinct that leads them to dream, live with what they find or are given - either by others or by an unthinking fate.

At the turn of the last century there was a young woman who was undoubtedly a dreamer. I do not know where she came from or for that matter where she was going to. It did not matter to me nor to those of us few who knew her. She was known to us as X, pronounced 'Ix' and most definitely not 'Ex'. I was young myself then (weren't we all?) and I had a tendency to frequent flea markets looking for books mainly and strange clothing. I was studying Art History and English Literature at the University with the intention of becoming a writer and hopefully a collector of art.

One day I chanced upon some 18th century English wineglasses with their stems filled with fine spiral threads. I fell in love with them and was about to buy them when a charming voice asked the stall-holder the price of them. He smiled and I turned to see my rival in love for these wineglasses. She was a little shorter than me with a slender figure but a slight plumpness to the stomach that spoke of eating unwisely but well. Still, it was her face that captivated. Green eyes that darted about like a bird trying to take in everything, a heart-shaped face with the pale clearness that redheads often have and freckles that became that face beautifully. Her mouth was small and constantly moving even when she did not speak. She seemed to be tasting everything the world was as if she could not quite believe her luck at being in the 'best possible of all worlds'.

I was bookish and on the way to becoming peevish and narrow, but something in my young self seemed to awake and I found myself smiling. She made a moue on hearing the price and I took my wallet and bought the glasses. To my surprise and slight queasiness I asked if she wanted them very much.

"Not so much cherie, only they are rather pretty," she said, her eyes already having moved on.

I felt a slight disappointment mixed with triumph. After all if she did not want them that much, I should certainly keep them. I was about to buy a rather beautiful travelling wine cabinet complete with the decanters and glasses and padded rather elegantly in pale green watered silk when she leaned over it. Her mass of heavy red-gold hair fell forward and I gasped in astonishment at the sheer beauty. She reminded me a little of a woman from a Levy-Dhurmer painting, yet she was very physical and real. She was also very down to earth, asking for a set of cutlery. The stall-holder indicated a rather beautiful set, monogrammed with 'LS' in flowing copperplate capitals on the handles. She asked him how much they were and he shrugged and grinned,

"Ah for cheering up my day, you can have them," he said gathering them up in large hands, red with the cold.

She protested rather beautifully I thought, but he laughed and wrapping them he handed them to her. No doubt the LS was perfect for her I reflected pettishly, it would stand for La Sauvage. Even as I thought it, I recanted it, for she was undoubtedly beautiful and full of charm. I did not trust charm I had decided and was asking the price of the travelling wine case when she placed a hand on my arm. I tensed automatically and my eyes flashed for I did not like to be touched by strangers. I am less fussy now, for I am older and less fraught. She did not seem to notice my tension, instead she said brightly,

"Oh yes, you must have that, it's quite lovely. And you must use it too and travel somewhere with it."

There was something of a command in her voice that I did not quite understand, then she had released my arm and I paid for the case and took it. I turned then towards the bookstalls and began to head to them when I was conscious that she was still with me. She walked alongside me without talking as if we were a couple. Only couples used to each other's company do not feel they have to talk to each other incessantly, they are comfortable with each other's company. She somehow managed to make it look just like that, though she was a stranger to me then. Near the first bookstall I turned to her and asked a little peevishly,

"Madame, who ARE you that you follow me?"

She smiled and held out her hand then and without thinking I took it in mine. Her fingers were fine and strong and cool.

"Enchante my dear, my friends call me Mademoiselle X," she said and added confidently, "And you are Monsieur March of course. I know you quite well."

I was astonished. A thousand questions arose like a swarm of butterflies in me but all I could say was,

"I am Jacob March and my friends call me Jacob."

I did not at the time ask her how she knew me well given that I had only just met her. Instead she leaned forward clutching firmly yet kindly at my arm and kissed me with cool lips on my face. She gazed into my eyes with her intense green eyes and said warmly,

"You must come and see me. Of course you know where I live, it's not far from you in fact. Come and I will give you cakes and wine and we will sing of wonderful things."

In the same instant as I was about to protest that I did not know where she lived I found that I did. That I always had known in fact. She grinned and laughed,

"Well I have things to do and people to see and you must go back to the books which is a shame. Forget them for once and go to the fashion stalls. You need a new coat after all. Buy two then when one wears out you can wear the other one," she said, kissing me again and leaving.

I was young and I was easily led by my feelings - to be charitable to myself. I turned away from the books and headed to the clothes. She turned away then and left and when I looked back she had gone, lost in the crowd of the market. I bought two long coats - I still have one of them, the dark blue-grey one with steel buttons. I left the market and went back to my rooms. I fell in with a crowd about my own age and we talked about art and literature of all kinds. I wrote articles about art and slowly gathered a bit of money with which I bought some small works of art and lived on vegetarian menus for their cheapness.

It appeared as I talked among friends that many of them knew Mademoiselle X and yet none of us knew anything about her. Somehow it did not matter. We would visit her when we could and she would indeed feed us cakes and wine and there would be music, talk and happiness. I only once saw her unhappy. A young man called Simon whose parents were ardent Catholics had given him a steel crucifix to wear. He, rebelling a little against them had grown used to the crucifix so did not think anything of it. But when he came near her she seemed to become nauseous and ran to her bedroom bidding us all, 'eat, drink and be happy' and that she had a sudden bout of sickness that would doubtless pass. The day after, Simon could not remember her at all and refused to come with us to visit her.

I thought nothing of it then. None of us did. We loved her brightness, airiness and lightness. There was something solid and yet intangible about her. Someone once asked if they might call her Holly Golightly, but she gently refused. She was not, she said, fictional after all. She seemed to mean everything to us, she was the centre of our crowd and we loved her passionately as one loves a goddess rather than an actual woman.

She laughed at the idea, she was no goddess she said, but something more lasting.We did not know quite what she meant, but she turned it into a witticism that I later forgot. Things seemed to come to her as if, like us, attracted by her company. After the fine cutlery came a set of fine Sevres porcelain dinner plates that she insisted on eating off, much to my horror, so they were very beautiful. An art nouveau wardrobe by Guimard, original posters by Mucha, framed in black lacquered frames decorated her rooms. The very apartment was a large elegant affair. And her clothes were the envy of all the women I knew. Clothing by Dior, Balenciaga and later Alexander McQueen seem to come to her without her spending any money at all. Food was given to her by shopkeepers and neighbours and welcomed in with charm and laughter.

Then one afternoon we arrived and she had gone. The door to the apartment was open, but it was empty and she had gone. There was not so much as a note to explain her passing. One minute she was there and then she had gone. I noticed with astonishment the rest of my crowd shaking their heads and wondering why they had come. My remonstrances were looked on in bewilderment, Mademoiselle who, they asked?

I gazed at them in astonishment but they went back down the stairs and into the street as if they had woken from a collective dream and did not know where they were. I entered the apartment and walked around it. There was the faint scent of perfume and in the kitchen a potted plant on the window ledge, vividly green but with no flowers. I took it and went through the cupboards and drawers. In one of the drawers I found one fork left of the cutlery she had been given that first morning I met her. I took that and put it in my jacket pocket as a souvenir. The plant and I left the empty apartment and I never saw her again, but when I eat a meal, I set two places. I fill two wine glasses and I turn the fork with it's tines downward on the cloth in memory of my time with Mademoiselle X.

The Long Fight

There was a boy once. Nothing special in that, you may say. This boy was born heartbroken - literally. His heart had a hole in the two lower chambers, a too narrow artery leading to his lungs, the main artery, the aorta was in the wrong place and the main chamber on the right side of the heart was too big. The doctors call this Tetralogy of Fallot because Fallot discovered it and there are four parts to it.

The boy had blue lips and fingertips when he was born - a blue baby the nurses told his mother, because not enough oxygen was making his blood crimson. Now if that were not enough, before he was due - at the age of seven to have major heart surgery, he caught meningitis. His mother, terrified took him to hospital, watched him writhe on his bed trying to find a cool place that might be a little comfortable. He managed with a mix of good medicine, excellent staff and his own stubborn-ness to survive the meningitis. But as if that were not enough, he went straight to another hospital in London for the heart surgery.

After that, he was terrified of so much. He hid deep inside of himself, spoke little and ran away into books where he sought a sanctuary from the haunting and hunting of his fears, sorrows and the pain of his memories. At the age of sixteen he was back in hospital for surgery to look around his heart. By then he had had enough of it all. He disliked everything to do with hospitals, feared them and the staff within them. He wrote of himself as a Ghost of Tears, killed with a kiss - of Life.

Still hunted and haunted by his memories, he took to trying to escape from his body and the world. He took poisons, pills, attempted to hang himself and to open up his veins. All of them failed and he wrote only of his despair at being, as he saw it, pinned into the world.

Now it happened, despite this apparent misery that Life gave him, as the rest, little moments of utter bliss and beauty. It made his path cross those of wise women who taught him about himself and about life. He came to notice this thread of luck and finally to learn how to love them, tho' only once did he dare to fall in love. The end of that love saw him lock up the gates to his emotional heart and to give his love only to friends.

The story is not yet over. He recently lost a battle with his fear and fled from the hospital. What of that? Is that not to be expected? But in that running he saw that his fear had bullied him, swamped him with shadows and filled him with clouds of despair. Finally he begins to stop, to think, to rouse the tiger in him. He will return and go through another angiogram in preparation for major heart surgery again. It will be a long fight, but now so roused is he in rage and defiance against the tyrant Fear that has bullied him, he armours himself, allies himself and prepares to fight. It will be a long fight, that he knows, but he will not quit. Not through bravery, for he is not a brave man, nor is he physically a strong man. But once more he call upon his stubborn resilience and the love of his friends who will not fail him nor allow him to fail himself.

He was forged in a hard fire like so many, almost drowned in his own sorrows like so many and despite it all, he still lives and for the love of his friends, will live.

So, if I do not post quite so much good friends and readers all - it is because I am in a fight with the shadow side of myself. With my fears. But this is a time when tyrants fall, when fragile people gather up themselves together and resist. This is a time when we call upon our faithful allies and upon our own strengths to fight against our fears and sorrows. Liberty is what we choose it to be - we make it for ourselves as we make ourselves who we choose to be. I will have that major heart surgery in January and will be recovering from it through February and possibly March. But I feel tigerish and full of fire. I wait now eagerly for the fight and the stories still in me. But like me they too will return again. I will put up stories when I can, but I crave your indulgence.

I will have good friends and allies to hold my hand and like Virgil guided Dante, lead me through the little hells I have made for myself. And Fear will be no more; Fear will die.

Neptune Rises

It happened a long time ago, some centuries ago in fact. It seems that a large bronze statue of Neptune was commissioned by the King of France. A new palace was being built, the Luxembourg Gardens were being laid out. Fountains using statues that were meant to impress the people and show the grandeur of the King's court.

Therefore it seemed natural that a fountain showing the Roman God of the Sea should be created. The King was greatly impressed by the model of the fountain. He insisted that the Neptune fountain would be the centre of the Gardens. The maker of the fountain struggled to create the moulds and after the first casting the bronze cracked. The maker stood in the foundry and wept. The foundry men stood and considered the problem, for they did not fret. They thought about the heat, the moulds were inspected in detail, but nothing could be found to be the problem. They stood around the foundry discussing what might be wrong, scratching their heads and wondering what they could do.

As they stood and pondered the problem a little man entered the foundry and approached Monsieur Du Fer the maker and foundry owner. The little man wore a tall black hat and his green eyes sparkled. Little tufts of fiery red hair sprouted from beneath the hat and his eyebrows were red and bushy too. He bowed to Monsieur Du Fer.

"The Neptune Fountain looks likely to be unfinished in time for the opening of the Gardens, Monsieur. Perhaps I can help. I have relatives who know all about the working of metals and can create your fountain in short order. All I would ask is that you give to me the first living thing that meets you when you arrive home this evening," he said.

Now Monsieur Du Fer had read many faery tales to his daughter so he was aware that something dreadful might happen should she rush out to greet her father before anyone else. He tried to negotiate with the little man, who remained adamant. Monsieur Du Fer realised he had no choice. He agreed and shook hands on the deal as they did in those days.

Now among the foundry men was a young man called Pierre who, though he dared not speak of it to his employer, was deeply in love with Mademoiselle Du Fer. He had run errands to the house of his boss and met the charming and elegant Mademoiselle Constance. Indeed, Monsieur Du Fer called him and asked him to go to his house and bid his daughter to stay in her room when he came home and to send out the dog.

Pierre did exactly as he was told, blushing furiously at Constance's charming manners. That her hair was the colour of chestnuts and her eyes like blue diamonds with the mouth soft and sweet as a rose did not help. He stammered out his master's instructions and told her why.

"Oh how exciting!" Constance exclaimed.

She had longed to meet the faeries due to the tales of the Countess D'Aulnoy read to her by her father and mother when she was younger. Still, she like her father knew that she might be spirited away never to see her family or friends again. However she could not bear the thought of sending out her dog. She told Pierre that she would think of something and kissed him for his kindness. Pierre managed, to his credit to walk out of the house and feeling somewhat as if he were walking on air managed to return to the foundry. It seemed however that the little man had bid all the foundry men to go home and that they should all be paid for the privilege. Naturally they were only too happy to obey. The life of a foundry man was hard and hot and the weather outside was delightful. Monsieur Du Fer had waited for his youngest foundry man and paid him the money the little man had given him. He noticed then Pierre's state of being and a wicked thought entered his head.

The young foundry man was not wealthy and not fit for his darling Constance to wed. But should he be the first person to meet his employer that evening then the young man would most likely never be seen again. But how was he to engineer such an event? He could not think how to do it and now Pierre was leaving him.

Monsieur Du Fer wandered about the city until he came to a coffeehouse. There he sat talking with friends, constantly thinking about how he might ensure the removal of Pierre by the little man. As for Pierre, he took his money and divided it. Half he would save and half would feed him for a month on a little bread and whatever else he might get. As he walked through the poorer streets of Paris towards his meagre lodgings in Montmartre an old woman appeared ahead of him and begged him for a little money for bread. Pierre was loath to give up what little money he had, but he looked at the old woman and thought he might survive a month on less than she might.

"I have little myself grandmother, but you're welcome to it, what little there is," he told her and gave her the money.

She took it and thanked him before grasping his arm with her bony hand and kissing him.

"Kindness is always rewarded my dear," she told him and hurried away.

I have the other half of my money at least, so I shall not starve for a while, Pierre thought. He trudged up the hill towards his home and up the stairs to his little room. He was so tired he fell on his bed and slept.

Monsieur Du Fer wandered around all day trying to work out how he might get Pierre to be the first person to meet him when he arrived home that evening when an idea came to him. He sent a boy to Pierre's address and told him to meet him at his house in the Rue St Honore. Pierrre, did not suspect anything and having been awoken went to meet his employer. He had tidied himself up as best as he could so that Constance should notice him, but when he arrived he found that one of the King's inspector's Monsieur Dauchon was there already. Dauchon had hatched a plan to blackmail Monsieur Du Fer into giving Constance to him to wed. He was a fat, apparently agreeable gentleman with sleepy looking eyes and a heart of pure venality. He was offhand with Pierre and showed the young man by all manner of sly comments and gestures that he would rather Pierre wasn't there.

The young foundry man became so distracted and miserable that he went out to meet Monsieur Du Fer by the gate of the house. Evening was apace. Carriages took gentlemen home from the Bourse. Ladies home from their shopping and their various enterprises. Paris was busy preparing for the evening. A little later, Monsieur Du Fer arrived and Pierre went to meet him. Du Fer shook hands with Pierre and told him that he hoped the young man harboured no affections for Mademoiselle Constance. His blushes at this remark told Du Fer that the young man harboured all affections for Mademoiselle Constance though he had never intimated that he would take them further.

"Go home young man and find someone nearer to your own status in life," Monsieur Du Fer told him.

Pierre shook with emotion but nodded and strode away, his heart snapped and tears springing to his eyes. He turned again towards the hill of Montmartre but as he came up the hill a carriage with red and green livery stopped beside him and he was told,

"Get in sir!"

Pierre, so overcome with despair did not care if he died and got into the carriage. Opposite him sat a beautiful woman with hair the colour of fire and eyes as green as a cat's. Beside her sat a red-haired gentleman with green sparkling eyes.

The next morning, the Neptune Fountain was discovered fully made and gleaming in the foundry. It was a fine piece of work and much admired by the men and by Monsieur Du Fer who noticed that Pierre was absent. The men carefully packed up the fountain and it was removed to the Luxembourg Gardens to be connected. It was beautifully connected and began to work perfectly. The King was most pleased with it, though he noticed Monsieur Du Fer seemed unhappy. Dauchon had done his work and Du Fer was now left to wonder if he would have done better to meet Dauchon first that evening.

The grand opening of the Luxembourg Gardens was to be held in three days time and the workmen still laboured to finish everything. Monsieur Du Fer took his foundry men and continued working on the next order. No more was heard of Pierre and Monsieur Du Fer was forced to gather Constance's dowry and to arrange her wedding to the inspector Dauchon. He had told Constance of the wedding and she had locked herself in her bedchamber in horror. She refused to see anyone at all.

"I would sooner die than marry that fat simpering creature!" she had declared.

Monsieur Du Fer agreed with her, but Dauchon had suggested that faults might be found in the fountain should not he not be married to Constance within three days.

On the day of the opening of the Luxembourg Gardens, Constance was to be married to Dauchon. The wedding was to take place after the opening of the Gardens in the morning. It did not happen for this reason.

As Monsieur Du Fer was continuing his bronze casting, every piece since the Neptune Fountain cracked and fell apart. Monsieur Du Fer was mad with grief and despair. But one morning he came into the foundry ready to pay off the men and shut up the foundry when an elegant gentleman entered the foundry and asked if he might buy it.

"I shall of course require your foundry men and if you would be happy to manage the foundry I should be grateful," the gentleman said.

At the first word the gentleman spoke, Du Fer recognised Pierre. But Pierre had been transformed. Now he clearly was a man of wealth and elegance, not the poor, grimy foundry man he had been. Monsieur Du Fer refused and answered that every piece was ruined since the Neptune Fountain.

"Kindness was not rewarded by kindness, monsieur," Pierre answered and left.

The opening of the Gardens was a grand affair. The King himself was there with all his courtiers in all their finery. Dauchon stood with the Head of Works smiling at the thought of his young bride to be. But as the King arose to pronounce the Gardens open, the statue of Neptune seemed to shiver in the dry summer air. The horses of his chariot tossed their manes and raised their heads and Neptune arose in his chariot and raised his trident over his head. Everyone was silent with shock.

"Monsieur Dauchon must come with me," Neptune thundered.

The King was about to protest when the Head of Works nodded to three of his burly workmen and Dauchon was propelled forwards towards the fountain and thrown in to the water. Almost immediately Dauchon changed shape. His flailing arms became scrawnier and his fingers webbed. His legs too became scrawnier and his hat fell from his head. His high scream deepened until a large toad was sitting in the fountain. Neptune stepped from his chariot and took the toad in his great hand. Then he sank beneath the waves of the fountain and was never seen again. Instead the Du Fer Foundry provided an angel to hold the reins of the chariot. Pierre had visited the Du Fer house during the grand opening and spoken to Constance. He declared that he loved her and if she would have him, he would be honoured to marry her.

Smart young woman that she was Constance had negotiated several concessions first and they were wed that afternoon at a ceremony that also included Pierre becoming the owner of the Foundry.

Where Flowers grow

Mary did not believe in Faeries at the bottom of her garden. It was probably lucky given that she stated it so bluntly that she wore a steel brooch that was very modern looking. For Mary believed in her garden and in all things modern and new.

One weekend her grandmother came to stay with her. Grandmother was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed so she said. Mary did not point out that her gran might be bright-eyed but unless she had any squirrel in her, she was unlikely to be bushy-tailed. Grandmother was wiry and small with a very down to earth attitude to everything. Mary recalled being shocked at the first time she heard her gran swear after stubbing her toe on the doorstep. Modern as Mary was, she could not believe somehow that Grandmothers swore. It seems that she had forgotten that to become a grandmother you had to first have been a mother. There are very, very few mothers who have never had a reason to swear. In fact they are so rare as to be practically mythical. This is why all mothers state "I love my kids, but..." and are both driven mad over their children's lifetime as well as driving their children mad by loving them. Hence, Grandmothers are exceptionally good at swearing.

The only other thing that shocked her was that Grandmother certainly believed in Faeries. She told Mary as if she were reporting local news that there was a brownie in the house on the first morning she stayed with Mary. Mary smiled but the smiled died on her face when her Grandmother did not smile.

"You'll need to leave milk and bread for it. Don't whatever you do go and do something daft like leaving clothes for it. Brownies don't want favours done, if they did, they'd ask. So anyway, what are we doing today?" Grandmother asked, helping herself to another slice of toast.

She barked a laugh when Mary stated categorically that she did not believe in such superstitions.

"Well you'd better start Mary, your house has bluebell woods on one side and flower meadows on the other. You'll need an old iron horseshoe over the doors and windows or the faeries will get in and you'll know about it then, believe it or not," Grandmother told her.

Mary humphed and drank her tea. They went into town after breakfast which Mary enjoyed for the town was all bright lights, plastic, concrete and relentlessly human. Nothing to do with faeries at all. She bought a pair of white shoes and white stockings, for she did not care for tights. She liked fastening her stockings in the morning and wearing a dress. She felt as she thought she ought to. A modern woman with elegance. Grandmother bought some old iron horseshoes from a bric-a-brac stall in the marketplace, a very charming set of fish knives and forks and six books with beautiful frontispieces. She was resolutely un-modern. Nonetheless, they sat and had coffee and cake at a gleaming modern cafe and Grandmother remarked that she was glad to take the weight off her feet for a while. The coffee was good and the cake calorific, which Mary was glad of for she worried about Grandmother.

When they got home Grandmother settled in an armchair with one of her books and snoozed. Mary took advantage of this to go out into the garden. She thought about what Grandmother had said and told herself that a meadow was no more than a meadow. She liked the pretty flowers and the few trees on the further side of the meadow, but she did not believe for a minute in faeries. As she was thinking she wandered across to the gate and passed through into the meadow. She did not feel the breeze pick up nor hear the faint laughter coming from the grasses in the meadow. She did not notice the slight darkening of the light or the intensity of the greenery becoming more intense. She felt a light free feeling and laughed. Standing in the middle of the meadow, she put her hands on her hips and wondered if she might make an extended garden of it. As she thought of it, she gazed about her and suddenly felt a light movement about her ankles and shins. Flowers seem to be growing out of the dark earth and along her legs. She cried out in surprise and leapt about, but still flowers seemed to grow along her white stockings upwards. She smoothed down her dress and backed away from the flowers, but where she walked, flowers sprang up in her footsteps. She cried out again and suddenly she heard a voice and the breeze died away, the laughter was silenced, the air lightened and a sudden dizziness she had not been aware of, faded away from her.

Standing in her garden was Grandmother with a stern look on her face that had at back of it, something of fear too. Her hands were extended before her and it dawned on Mary that her Grandmother was not the ordinary old lady she appeared to be.

"Come along Mary, let's have some tea," Grandmother called to her.

Mary found herself walking with her whole body trembling as if in fear of something nameless. She took her Grandmother's hands and was pulled through the gateway back into her garden. Instantly she felt as ordinary as if she had been dreaming and woken up. They went indoors and Mary remarked on her stockings that were now decorated with flowers. She did not ask her Grandmother if she was a witch, she did not quite know how to and it did not seem very polite. Grandmother for her part did not tell her either.

That evening when she undressed for bed, she saw that not only the stockings, but her legs were covered with a decoration of flowers that did not look as if they would wash off. She frowned and rubbed her legs until they were sore, but the flowers remained. Grandmother moved in with Mary a little later and after a few months, the flowers on Mary's legs had faded away. Mary does not speak of faeries any more and she always leaves bread and milk for the brownie of whom she also never speaks.